superextra
by cupcakeriot
Summary: A series of non-linear outtakes and futuretakes from the SUPERNORMAL universe. (Requests will be entertained) **Spoilers ahead. You've been warned.**
1. christmastime

**THE FOLLOWING OUTTAKES AND FUTURETAKES ARE _DEFINITELY_ SPOILERS FOR THE STORY. FAIR WARNING.**

* * *

 **christmastime**

* * *

Ella has always been disillusioned by Christmas. As a product of her environment, she's known since she was very small that Christmas wasn't about the birth of Christ or giving to others or whatever load of shit Hallmark _says_ Christmas is about. Christmas is about family, about being with loved ones, and for a kid in the foster system with no love to claim as her own, Ella's Christmas spirit died a swift death long before believing in Santa Claus became an issue.

The urge to decorate and watch Christmas movies and spread holiday cheer has generally been divorced from her reality, even after settling in with Carlisle and Charmstone and the idea of loving and being loved in return. It doesn't help that _of course_ the first Christmas she and Anthony share as a couple is encased in disaster, or that the second one actually features fucking _Krampus_.

A time for joy and peace December is not - at least not in Charmstone and not for Ella.

But then, as is typical, things changed and after nine hours of labor, Ella is taken by the unshakeable desire to give her daughter better than she had. Ella may be a Scrooge and Anthony may be just relieved to sleep in on a holiday without mitigating a crisis - but Shae will not have her childhood tainted in any way. Not if her parents have anything to say about it.

So, as Shae's first Christmas comes around, they start a tradition for their family. Two weeks before the holiday now sees Ella renewing the wards around Charmstone while Anthony and the pack survey the territory for anything even remotely weird. Between all of their connections to the community, the last few weeks of December are as quiet as they ever could be, and for a little while it's okay to forget about the supernatural. Ella learns how to wrap presents without using magic for the sake of authenticity. Anthony takes over decorating their new house - nestled on the north side of the forest with plenty of privacy and room for expansion - with unprecedented enthusiasm. They both agree that cooking should _absolutely_ still be done with assistance from magic. A Christmas Eve lunch with the Scoobies is instigated and Christmas Day is spent together, just their little family of three.

It's a happy time, the sort of thing Ella would have never anticipated in her life when she was growing up. Almost _normal_.

Almost being the operative word.

"Seriously?" she mutters as she stands in front of the linen closet. Now that Shae is getting older and wiser, it's come to Ella's attention that hiding presents from her kid has to be, like, _a thing_. She selected the linen closet banking on the strong scent being enough to mask the tint of her magic, but Shae is too clever by half and too in-tuned with Ella's magical signature for the hiding place to have lasted long.

Anthony's bare feet rap against the hardwood floors as he ventures closer. "What is it?"

Ella gestures half-heartedly to the mess at her feet, a topple of partially unwrapped presents and glitter and bows. "Look at this," she gripes.

"Ah."

She narrows her eyes at her husband accusingly. "She gets this from your side of the family."

"Obviously," he deadpans.

"Don't be cute, Tony," Ella rebukes. "I'm _disturbed_ , okay. Our daughter - like, she's worse than the Tasmanian Devil. Doesn't that concern you?"

 _Ella_ is concerned because when things like this happen, she can't help but wonder if she's not messing up, somehow. She doesn't have any idea how to raise a healthy, well-adjusted child and she doesn't think that Anthony has the same foundation of pervasive fear that has begun to simmer in her gut. Ella never had a mother. She doesn't know how to be one, let alone a _good_ one to a burgeoning shaman.

"She's three," he says consolingly, running the flat of his hand down the curve of her spine, warm and heavy and usually more comforting than it is at the moment.

"Yes, which is why this is so worrying. It'll only get worse with age - look at Bree!"

Anthony sighs slightly at the mounting hysteria building in her tone. "She's curious and energetic and lacks impulse control. Sound familiar?"

Ella isn't the least bit mollified, spinning around with her hands on her hips. "Are you trying to make me mad right now? Look at me! Does it seem like the wisest decision to rile me up _right now_?"

Anthony's lips tilt into a smirk as his eyes run over the curves of her body, particularly the swell of her midsection. He really doesn't need any reminder to appreciate the changes in her frame; she catches him staring with thinly-veiled awe enough that she's pretty sure he has a kink for pregnant women, or is well on his way to developing one. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, ducking down to press a lingering kiss to the side of her mouth, his hands coming around to frame her stomach.

"My ankles are fat," she mutters, suddenly feeling flustered. She hates the mood swings that come with pregnancy, but according to Alice, her mood swings on any given day are usually worse when she _isn't_ knocked up. Ella would call bullshit, but she has a sneaking suspicion that her sister is right.

At least pregnancy mood swings are more predictable. She's either fuming or crying about something ridiculous.

"You're glowing with life," Anthony counters, leaning his forehead against hers. "I've never seen anything sexier."

"You're so weird," she tells him.

He kisses her again and doesn't bother to disagree.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

The scent of cinnamon and ginger and vanilla seeps through the house, a warm accompaniment to the noisy merriment coming from the living room. From the sounds of it, Riley and Bree are in the middle of their annual argument over a classic Christmas movie; this year it seems _A Christmas Story_ is cause for contention and after hearing Bree defend the leg-lamp, Ella had tuned most of it out. Even thought all of the people in the house are _her people_ , her _family_ , Ella hasn't ever known what to do with a gathering so large. It's a comfort that she can retreat to a quieter part of the house under the guise of tending to the food, knowing that "Grampy" Carlisle is keeping Shae entertained and that Anthony is making sure nothing gets out of hand between the various creatures in their inner circle.

Sometime after the noise devolves into a debate on the merits of Ralphy's wish list, Peter wanders into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as Ella magically marches gingerbread men off of a cookie sheet. "You're such a show-off," he says.

She raises her brows at his tone. "I thought you liked enchanted gingerbread men? You nag me into making them every year."

"I do." Peter shrugs, the string of LED lights on the tree stitched into his hideous sweater bobbing with the motion. "You know, like _, usually_."

"Oh, for the love of…" Ella pins her best friend with a disbelieving look. "Are you seriously _still_ pouting because my toddler's cookie army beat your cookie army earlier? Really?"

"She cheated!" he cries.

"She's _three_ ," Ella counters, belatedly realizing that she's using the same tactic Anthony tried on her.

It doesn't work on Peter, either. "She has magic and itty bitty claws and she's _ruthless_ ," Peter argues.

Ella snorts. "Are you even listening to yourself right now?"

"Hey, my point is a valid one." Peter shakes his finger at her, then frowns when one of the gingerbread men tries to grab him. He flicks the enchanted cookie away. "Plus, she won using the gingerbread with raisins for eyes and, I'm sorry, but there's just something really twisted about a kid actually liking raisins."

Ella rolls her eyes. "More twisted than a 26 year old sulking because he lost to someone who only just learned to spell her own name?"

Peter mocks offense. "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch," he says.

Ella's response is on the tip of her tongue, but then Anthony is looming behind Peter with a protective rasp in his throat. "What's this I'm hearing?"

"Nothing!" Peter says quickly, stumbling around Anthony with his hands held up. "Nothing at all, Alpha, My Alpha. I'll just go into the other room and, uh, supervise everyone being so woke…"

Anthony's eyes trail after Peter's speedy retreat, and then he ambles around the kitchen island with his head cocked to the side. "He didn't used to be that odd, did he?"

"It's Peter," she says by way of explanation. Ella pushes a tray of cookies toward him. "Here, take these."

"In a minute," he rumbles as he presses up behind her, arms caging around her on either side of her body.

"Tony…"

Ella's half-hearted protest falls short as Anthony's nose skims the curve of her neck, lips and warm breath teasing her skin. She swallows back a moan when he nips at particularly sensitive spot. "Mmm…You smell like vanilla."

"It's the icing," she says nonsensically.

"Delicious."

"Store bought," she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as she angles her neck to give him more room. She can feel him against her back, hot and heavy, and the lust that cuts through her is sharp enough to ache.

"That's not why it tastes so good. Save some for later," he whispers against her skin.

At that, Ella turns just enough to grace him with an incredulous stare. "I'm already pregnant," she tells him unnecessarily. "I can't get anymore knocked up."

His scarred brow raises in challenge. "Doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

The icing, it turns out, is a good idea.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Morning comes too soon and prominently features Shae's little feet trampling over their bed, repeatedly landing hits to Anthony's internal organs with an accuracy that he cannot be convinced is accidental.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

Beside him, Ella groans, pulling a pillow over her face.

"Wake up! Up, up, up!" Shae chants, bouncing onto her knees between them, wiggling as she takes Ella's pillow and magically vanishes it…somewhere. Shae's tawny, freckled face is flushed in excitement, and not for the first time Anthony reflects that although she is physically a perfect blend of himself and his mate, her energy is _all_ Bree.

"Oh, my God, _why_ ," Ella whines sleepily.

"Santa came!" Shae declares loudly.

With one eye slit open, Anthony watches as his little Shae stands up again to jump on the bed, as if trying to annoy them into waking up. It's a valiant effort and one that might have worked if he hadn't noticed the claws to suddenly slip from her tiny hands and toes - and then faster than he even processes the observation, Anthony is sitting up with an armful of squirming toddler. Spurred by the instinct to protect his wife's easily-breakable skin and the knowledge that Shae's control is shitty on a regular day, Anthony has closed his palms over his daughter's hands and feet.

"Shae," he says seriously.

"Daddy?"

"What are the rules about claws?" he prompts.

Shae's eyes, a stunning grey-green set behind a fringe of chestnut lashes, turn solemn as she stares up at him and the tiny pricks of her claws recede from his flesh. "Only for saving or defendin'," she recites, then drops her chin to quietly add the last part. "An' careful with Mommy, 'cause Mommy doesn't have any."

Anthony kisses her forehead. "That's good," he praises. "I know you're excited, but you can't ever forget. Okay?"

"'Kay, Daddy."

Anthony tickles her sides, watching the way her face lights up so brightly as she giggles. "Why don't you go downstairs and see what Santa brought. We'll be right down."

Shae scuttles off, thumping down the stairs and exclaiming over the presents that had miraculously turned up under the tree. When Anthony looks to his wife, she is smiling at him so tenderly that his heart hurts, just a little bit.

"You're a good father," Ella tells him, resting her hand on the hump of her stomach.

"You're a good mother," he says and he means it, knowing full well that she is filled with doubt every day. He doesn't know if Ella will ever trust in herself to believe that she is nurturing and kind and genuinely everything he has ever loved, but he holds out hope that one day she'll get there.

He leans over and kisses her gently, which she returns sweetly.

"Merry Christmas," he says against her lips. And like he always has, he keeps her soft, happy, hormonal crying to himself - tucked safe and secure in his heart.

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

 **A/N: So, I had a particularly persuasive request for a fluffy Christmas one-shot within the _supernormal_ universe and I couldn't resist! **

**That's right - shamans are the product of one shifter parent (werewolf or otherwise a shapeshifter of at least two different forms, like a kelpie) and a magician. Makes you wonder about who Black's parents are, right? Me too!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**

 **HAPPY HOLIDAYS 2017!**


	2. not very spritely

**not very spritely**

* * *

This is how they find out.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Life in Charmstone is as calm as it ever is - which is to say that the monster of the week that has been drawn to the nuclear hub of power embedded in the land beneath the town is discovered and identified without too much hassle. Unlike in the past, there isn't any confusion in what is threatening their hard-won home. At the latest town meeting, there are complaints about all sorts of strange things happening across town and, much to Ella's amusement, more than one accusation is tossed out between neighbors.

"I _know_ it was you!" says an elderly man to a teenage girl. "It _must_ have been you!"

The girl is affronted by his irate tone, crossing her arms over her chest as she says, "Like I would even _want_ to trim your hedges, or whatever."

"The roses were pruned!" The old man turns beseeching eyes to Mayor Newton, who is sweating as profusely as usual. "She _cleaned up_ my garden! My prize-winning roses! My _hydrangeas!_ "

Mayor Newton stammers, metaphorically buried beneath the sheer volume of complaints. Mailboxes fixed, fences repainted, more than one casserole left on doorsteps, pies appearing in kitchens, babies who cuddle with stuffed animals their parents have not bought them - and these are only the incidents that are occurring with the _humans_ in Charmstone. Later, at the town council meeting, Stefan glares at Alice - who is still settling into her post as the harbinger representative - and point-blank demands why she thought it appropriate to delivered candied dead-man's fingers to his people.

"I would _never_ ," Alice gasps, pressing her hand to her chest and appearing very hard not to gag at the thought of such a confection.

"Well, _someone_ did," Stefan bitches. He turns his flinty stare to Aro.

Aro picks at his nails. "Look elsewhere, ghoul, as I would never reduce myself to such base flirtations."

Ella sighs loudly, drawing attention to herself. "Has it really not occurred to anyone else that maybe our town hasn't spontaneously been struck by the need to do good deeds? I know it's a crazy Idea, but maybe there's another reason," she says dryly.

Anthony picks up the thread of her thoughts and frowns. "You're probably right."

She raises a brow. "Probably?"

Somehow, his disgruntled moue is fond. "I'll have Peter start researching."

Ella waves her hand, a message of silver fire forming in the air, then shooting off along the line of Peter's lifeline. "Done," she says with a self-satisfied smile. Then, taking Tony's hand in hers and intertwining their fingers, she looks to the rest of the council. "We'll let you know what we find."

 _We_ , she says, because they are a team. And they always will be.

There is a thin silver band topped with a small raw rose quartz fit snug on her left ring finger to prove it.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

"I know what it is!" Peter exclaims as he thunders up the staircase to the loft over the store. He doesn't bother knocking, because he's Peter and he hasn't managed to learn to do so even after walking in on Ella and Anthony in a compromising position more than once. He's lucky that on this night, Anthony is patrolling the forest in the hopes of catching the scent of whatever it is that is causing such grief in the town, which has left Ella alone in the loft.

When Peter topples against the doorway, Ella is curled up on the couch fighting a wave of nausea, and her flinch at his loud arrival is accompanied by several half-finished enchanted objects flying off her worktable to bash against his head. Peter cries foul - " _Not again, come on!"_ \- before he quiets, finally noticing the waxiness of her complexion.

"Ella?"

"Cut to the chase and tell me what the fuck is going on," she groans, curling tight around a pillow.

"We've got sprites," Peter says immediately, in the same tone one might say _we have fleas_. He moves to kneel beside the couch, poking Ella in the arm. "Hey, you don't look so good."

Ella's face twists. "Sam fed me seafood earlier," she mumbles. "Emily was out and he was experimenting again and now I am actively regretting every decision that led to this moment."

Peter shakes his head mournfully. "Rookie mistake, dude. You know Sam can't cook fish worth a damn."

"It was so good at the time," she responds, a fresh wave of queasiness rolling through her. She counts backward from ten, closes her eyes tightly, and sighs in relief when it passes. "What's this about a Sprite? Because I could really use one."

"Not a Sprite, like, the drink. Sprites like, you know, the little creatures of myth," he corrects.

"Not so mythical at all."

"And you're not so _spritely_ ," Peter says as he stands, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to go find my alpha and fill him in. You just try not a vom until I'm, like, out of hearing, smelling, and seeing distance, okay?"

Her eyes slit open with a dark glare. "I cannot believe you just used a _pun_ when I'm on death's doorstep."

Peter grins unrepentant. "Well, when else and I going to be able to use that pun? Opportunity knocks, baby."

"Opportunity is about to kick your ass, Peter, you absolute shithead."

"See you later!"

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Charmstone is infested with sprites and for a hoard of creatures that clock in at a whopping six inches tall, they have an astonishing ability to make quite a mess out of things. Shortly after Peter makes a babbling report over the phone, Anthony happens across one of the little creatures just on the edge of the forest. He can admit that he isn't really in a _listening_ mood, not when he can feel through their mate bond that his wife is sick and in need of him. He doesn't particularly want to be held up by the little things causing the headaches in the town.

Especially not one that lurches forward eagerly at the sight of him, brandishing a bundle of bright pink flowers at him.

Anthony growls, claws sharpening in his fingers, but the sprite is unmoved. Its so small and dressed in a gossamer-thin dress that doesn't help differentiate its gender, and as it lifts the flowers to tap against his knee, a high-pitched voice says, "Azaleas for abundance."

The sprite won't stop trying to give him the flowers and, for lack of any other response to a creature that isn't currently threatening him, Anthony takes the stems in his clawed grip. He stares at the petals, then at the sprite.

The sprite smiles brightly. "Congratulations."

Anthony's brow knits together. "Uh, thank you?"

The sprite disappears in a puff of sparkling smoke, its giggle ringing in his ears for long minutes after it is gone.

Anthony brings the flowers back home. As weird as the interaction was, the flowers smell like they should and the sprite wasn't doing anything that Ella might classify as " _obviously evil_ ", so he doesn't see the harm in letting the azaleas wash out the scent of Ella's sickness from their loft. In any case, he pretty much forgets about them as he crouches behind his wife, holding her hair away from her sweaty forehead as she heaves into the toilet, looking altogether more pathetically helpless than he has ever known her to be.

He's worried - the kind of concern that cleaves right through his sternum and shows itself in the stern downward turn of his lips. Ella is never _sick_. Her magic doesn't let her get fall prey to the influenza, broken bones are mended in seconds, and she's defied death more times than Anthony cares to recall. That she's stronger than anything, that she can overcome everything, is a universal truth for him -

But she's sick now.

And Anthony isn't thinking about the fucking flowers a strange little creature decided to gift him.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Days later finds Ella back in what she considers working order. She and Anthony have two very different definitions of healthy, of course, and while she is content to know that the world-spinning nausea seems to have passed, he is less than calmed by the stubborn flush in her cheeks that refuses to fade.

"I'm fine," she tells him, summoning various items from around the loft as she stands by the door. Her trusty jacket, a set of throwing knives stuck down the side of her boots, a focusing quartz.

Anthony grows more and more perplexed as he watches, because each time Ella turns to leave, she spins around to summon another item that she's forgotten - and it isn't like her to be so forgetful. Risking her wrath, he boldly says, "Maybe you should stay home. Keep resting."

Her glare is withering. "Oh, give me a break. I'm fine."

"It just doesn't seem like such an emergency. Why all the urgency?" he wonders, refusing to give an inch because sometimes - a lot of the time - Ella needs someone to make her stop and think. As her husband, Anthony feels he has a vested interest in doing so because the more Ella thinks before she acts, the less likely it is that her magic will have to knit her back together and the less likely he will be to being the first werewolf to actually getting an ulcer.

Ella heaves a sigh, then snaps her fingers to summon one of the little bags of manchineel ash she keeps hidden in the floorboards. "Tony, who knows what these sprite things want?"

"I think," he begins sardonically. "That they want to forge strong bonds between neighbors, if the accounts everyone has collected are to be believed. Rings true for the mythology that Peter found."

"Yes, but they could just be lulling us into a false sense of security." At his disbelieving stare, Ella snaps, "I'm not being paranoid, Tony. It's happened before and you know it."

She isn't wrong, but that doesn't mean that he agrees, either.

Still, if there is anything he has learned about his wife, it is that he must pick his battles - and stopping Ella from banishing the sprites in Charmstone is not the hill he wants to die on. He gives in with a heavenward glance, resigning himself to looking after her until he's sure she's better.

All in all, it isn't such a heavy burden to bear.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Even though Ella will never have particularly fond memories of rituals - the scars left by the hag will haunt her until the day she dies - this is not the first time, nor will it be the last time, that Ella will perform a banishment ritual. Some part of her chafes at the idea of not cutting down the enemy where they stand, a ruthless streak that will never fade from the rise of magic in her blood. But life has taught her many things and the ability to embrace other facets of herself has proved invaluable time and again.

Plus, it's always smart to forge goodwill between herself and her pacifist uncle; although they are the same age, they have each dealt with the aftermath of their collective traumas in drastically different ways. Ella prefers pragmatism. Alec does not.

They will never agree on everything, but a banishment ritual - something they learned together - will always be common ground, especially once it has been confirmed that they don't actually _need_ to kill the sprites to get rid of them. With Ella stationed at the north-western cardinal ley line and Alec at the south-eastern, each with their backs covered by Anthony's pack, the begin the ritual in synch -

Until Ella sways after placing the quartz into the convergence of ley lines, succumbing to a sudden bout of dizziness as her eyes roll into the back of her head, the silver flare of her eyes fading to pallid grey-blue-green.

"Ella!" Anthony shouts in alarm, skidding to his knees beside her. He's too late to catch her weight and she has dying foliage tangled into her hair, the flutter of her sooty eyelashes over the sharp plains of her cheekbones nothing short of heart-stopping. "Ella? Ella, sweetheart? Can you hear me?"

Ella doesn't respond.

Anthony will admit - later - that he fell into panic. He is distantly aware that his phone is ringing in his pocket, that there is a broken surge of power as Alec's side of the ritual fizzles out after Ella's magic doesn't meet his spell. Mostly, though, it doesn't register. All of Anthony's enhanced senses are honed in on his wife - the sound of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest, the rosy flush in her cheeks that contrasts so much with her otherwise pale complexion -

Ella's head falls back as he lifts her into his arms, the vulnerable arc of her throat open to his gaze, the rest of her body limp in his grasp. She's too light, she's _always_ been so goddamn petite, had such a hard time keeping weight on after burning through her energy so quickly, and now her lightness makes his heart jump to his throat.

"Ella?"

Several near-silent pops echo through the clearing - and then Anthony is surrounded by dozens of genderless, big-eyed sprites, each of them gazing worriedly at his unconscious mate held safe in his arms. He snarls at them, mind jumping to blame _them_ , eager to concede that maybe Ella might have been right to be paranoid -

"She's in a delicate state," says one of the sprites.

Several of the sprites nod in agreement. "Very delicate, very delicate indeed," they chime.

Anthony's teeth curl away from his lips. "What did you do to her?"

The sprites break out into giggles. "We did nothing!" they declare brightly. "You did! You did something! Something wonderful!"

Anthony is drawing a blank. Off the top of his head, he can think of a very large selection of "wonderful" things he and Ella have done together - many of them involving stolen moments saturated in mind-bending pleasure - but he suspects that the sprites are not talking about _that_. What could Anthony have possibly done to -

Sick. Tired. Pale, but flushed with _life_. Dizziness.

"He knows! He knows, he knows!" cry the sprites in delight.

Meanwhile, Anthony feels the tension seep from his muscles, his lips parting as the realization strikes him. He looks at Ella with new eyes, inhaling deeply to search for the thing that he has missed -

Blackberries - a scent more tartly sweet than Ella's normal citrus and one in such an infinitesimal amount that he'd completely overlooked it in his worry over her health. The nose of a werewolf never lies, though, and this should have been the first thing he noticed. His wife, his mate, smells just a bit different than she did before.

Because she's -

"We felt we were needed, we did," says the first sprite. "Come to bless, come to assess, come to help keep the peace while life be blooming, we did."

"Did he not know?" wonders one of the others.

"We gave him azaleas! Everyone knows what azaleas mean!" exclaims another.

Reeling, Anthony makes to stand on his feet, Ella still cradled in his arms, completely dead to the world. He steps around the sprites, intent on returning to the loft and tucking Ella into bed so she can rest, and the sprites follow along at his heels.

He doesn't pay them any mind now that he understands.

He _understands_.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Ella is twenty three when she learns that she is pregnant. It's the same age her mother was when she had Ella in Persia all those years ago and when Tony first tells her, she is gripped by a fear so acute it feels as if she is being strangled. Ella lives a dangerous life, much of it in spite of her best efforts. Her very existence was designed to draw trouble like her to a magnet. The same can be said for her husband, for his family, for their friends.

She doesn't want to leave her child an orphan.

She wants her child to have a better life, a better chance, than Ella ever did.

Anthony's warm hands cover hers where she has unthinkingly pressed her palms protectively over the flat of her stomach. He ducks his head to catch her gaze. "It won't be the same," he promises. "We won't let it be the same."

And she knows this to be true - deep in her bones, deeper than ever her magic can touch.

(It doesn't mean that Peter _ever_ lets them forget that Charmstone was overrun with sprites trying to be helpful in the most awful ways just because they sensed that someone powerful had blossomed with new life.)

(They make him Godfather, anyway.)

* * *

 **A/N: Literally just so Peter could make that pun. Also, _so frakking hilarious_.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	3. ducky

**ducky**

* * *

Ella is twenty-two when she decides that teenagers are annoying little shits and that she doesn't want to deal with their overdramatic bitchiness any more than absolutely necessary. Which means as little as possible, if anyone asks. Carlisle must be a saint, or something, for taking Ella in when _she_ was a shithead teenager with a lifetime of rough patches.

When she asks Carlisle how to deal with a certain thirteen year old under her tutelage, he actually laughs so hard he actually spills his _tea_. She glowers at him, vanishes his tea spill, and stomps off in a huff, muttering about how she'd _figure it out herself_.

Mostly, figuring it out herself means that she glares down at Maggie's rich ocher eyes and demands that Maggie leave her teenage drama at the door when they're in a training session. "You're not going to waste my time pining over Ben," Ella says firmly. "You're going to learn magic. Nothing more and nothing less."

Maggie has the audacity to roll her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I get it. When we're here, we're not friends. Blah, blah, blah."

It's possible that Maggie's hero-worship after Ella saved her from her psychopath father has come back to bite Ella in the ass. A newly teenaged magician undergoing hormonal imbalances and mood swings and a _serious_ case of sassiness is nothing to sneeze at. Still, Ella can't recall being _this_ bad at thirteen. Of course, at thirteen Ella was also harboring _all the angst_ and that's quite a bit different than Maggie going through puberty and adjusting to _whatever it is_ that is going on with her mother and Ella's old professor.

Ella tries to sympathize. She really does. Honestly.

It helps if she remembers Maggie a few years ago, all freckles and big eyes and bouncing firebrand curls. Back then, Maggie had spent her time alternating between clinging to her mother's skirts - literally - and following Ella around like a duckling whenever she had the chance. It also helps when Tony reminds her that teenagers being little shits doesn't last long.

Exhibit A is Ben Masen, preparing to graduate from Charmstone High and enroll at Viridity for undergraduate psychology. Ben had managed to shed all his teenaged angst with more grace than anyone expected, shooting up like a weed and inserting himself into Tony's pack the day after he turned eighteen.

Ella _really_ hopes Maggie follows in Ben's footsteps. She has high hopes, considering Maggie's massive crush on Ben - but then, that crush is also a source of distraction when she's trying to train the scrawny redhead, so Ella might be more than a little torn on Ben's good influence.

How does she get herself into these situations?

Of course, it isn't like Ella exactly has a choice in training Maggie. Merlynn and Alec could instruct Maggie all day long about how to cast light magic and Maggie could do her best - but the fact of the matter is that Maggie isn't _only_ a descendent of Merlin and James _did something_ to make Maggie's magic naturally lean toward the dark. Plus, as far as any of them know, Ella is the only other magician in the world with a dual heritage. She has to teach Maggie. It would be incredibly irresponsible not to.

 _Still_.

Maggie and Ella sit across from each other in a meadow near Beacon Lake after Ella _pops_ them both there. Ella is sure that Maggie will be capable of teleportation one day, too. She might have all the gifts from Magic that Ella does, actually, but thankfully those gifts also come with a maturity in magical ability and Maggie is still young. Too young for this kind of training, maybe, but then again, Ella would have been glad to learn control at Maggie's age and it isn't as if Merlynn has any problems with Ella making sure Maggie doesn't accidentally terrorize her classmates.

Plus, Ella isn't blind. For all Maggie's bravado, she can see that the kid is afraid of her magic. And that's not an attitude that is sustainable for a magician; magic is too much a part of them, too integral to their very lives, for them to have any fear of it.

Maggie is special, just like Ella.

"Levitate that rock," Ella instructs. She sits back and watches with keen eyes as Maggie complies, easily lifting a palm-sized limestone up over their heads with a shimmer of faint lilac magic. She notices the moment that Maggie pales, biting her lip in concentration.

Levitating a rock that small is _nothing_ for Maggie, she knows. It's absurdly easy, actually, but that was why Ella asked Maggie to perform this task. She's had her suspicions for a while, but this only confirms it.

Ella flicks her fingers at the rock, absently shooting it off over to the lake, and ignores Maggie's indignant protest. She levels her young cousin with a _look_ and says, "Ducky, what the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" Maggie huffs. "I lifted the stupid rock, just like you asked."

"You used light magic," Ella notes.

Maggie crosses her arms over her chest defensively. "Yeah, so?"

"Why didn't you use dark magic? It comes easier to you."

Maggie balks, darting her eyes up to Ella's face and back down to the ground. "Dark magic is evil," Maggie mutters. "I don't want to be like… _him_."

Ella sighs. She thought as much and the confirmation is anything but a comfort. "Dark magic isn't _evil_ ," she corrects. "Black magic is, but dark magic isn't inherently _bad_."

"That's not what Uncle Alec says."

"Uncle Alec is an idiot and nobody should listen to him," Ella says peevishly. Then she rubs at her forehead, trying to collect her thoughts. "Okay. Why do _you_ think that dark magic is evil?"

Maggie shifts, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Well… _he_ used dark magic, didn't he? And he was the worst, so that must mean that dark magic is bad, too."

 _He. James_. God, but was any kid quite as traumatized by her own father as Maggie?

Ella shakes her head. "You've got it all wrong. Dark magic isn't - No, okay, magic comes in all these different shades, right? You know that I use neutral magic, a combination of both light and dark magic, to protect people. For you, I think you're going to have to get used to the idea that magic is about how you intend to use it. If you use a dark spell to save a life, is that bad?"

"…No."

Ella tilts her head in thought. "Do you know why there are different kinds of magic?"

"Because of our ancestors," Maggie answers promptly. "Merlin was the original magician, a user of light magic, and he found two students -"

Ella waves her hand. "No, I'm not asking for a lesson in dubious history," she cuts in. "I'm asking if you know _why_ there are different kinds of magic. Or better, do you know the difference between them?"

"I guess not," Maggie mutters into her knees.

And so Ella explains, hoping that this will drive the lesson home to Maggie that using dark magic doesn't make _Maggie_ dark. She tells Maggie about how the different types of magic draw energy, about how light magic draws entirely from the self, how neutral magic takes a little from the self and from the world, and how dark magic takes entirely from the world and uses the self as a conduit.

"Magic is all about trades," Ella lectures. "Light magic asks you to trade part of yourself in return for a spell. Neutral magic allows you to borrow from the world, as long as you give it back somehow. But the way dark magic trades is a little selfish. Dark magic lets you use the magic from the world without having to return it, but the trade is that it begins to affect _you_. You get to keep all your magic, but it starts to chip away at your mind if you aren't careful."

"And you want _me_ to use _that_?" Maggie asks incredulously. "Yeah, no thanks. Hard pass."

Ella arches a brow. "Did I say that? No, I didn't. Remember - your magic is going to have to be about intent more than anything else. You need to accept that your magical core is naturally dark, Ducky, or else you're going to hurt yourself by constantly casting light magic."

Maggie looks pensive. "What do I do, then?"

Ella rolls her shoulders, sitting up straighter. "For now, you've got to think about how to trade back what you take. Not necessarily like neutral magic, but more like an even sacrifice for what you're asking. If you cast a spell that powers itself by taking magic from the world around you, how are you going to make that trade even?"

"By how I intend to use that magic," Maggie says thoughtfully. "Right?"

Ella nods her head. It's a good start, at least, and she doesn't think that Maggie is ready to hear that bigger feats of magic will probably need to be equalized by sacrifice on Maggie's part - most likely through some form of blood magic. A spell in trade for a drop of blood isn't innately evil, unless that spell is geared toward hurting someone else.

Ella would know - she's certainly thought about it enough after that black magic spell she performed with the pixies. With that in mind, Ella is reasonably certain that she can help guide Maggie though this little hiccup.

Magic wouldn't let Ella steer Maggie wrong.

* * *

 **A/N: Since these futuretakes aren't chronological, it should be noted that this scene takes place about a year before Ella and Tony are expecting.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	4. silently

**silently**

* * *

At first, she doesn't know what to make of him. She doesn't know what to make of _anything_ after waking up from twenty years of mind control only to find herself missing a child and in the middle of a town preparing for a war - but she especially doesn't know what to make of William Black.

His strong resemblance to his father, someone Merlynn recalls only in the fuzziest of memories, strikes fear through her heart for a long time, as does his dark eyes. William is thoroughly a descendant of Mordred, that much is immediately clear. She can see it in his features as much as she can see it in his charcoal aura and the shadow-bear at his heel.

And she is not ashamed of her fear - not until it becomes clear that she's projecting all of her trauma onto an innocent man, at least. By the time Merlynn recognizes that William is as gentle as he is inscrutable, she finds herself feeling wrong-footed. Because she had watched him when he was guarding the Viridity gates and she had been silenced by the zen-like quality of his focus, a trait she'd never really seen in anyone else.

As it is, she decides weeks later that she doesn't _fear_ William Black, but she _is_ unnerved by him.

He is, she thinks, the antithesis of everything experience has taught her about Mordred's children.

She still keeps her distance.

She has a frightened child to focus on. She has to become a pathfinder in the new life she has found herself in. She has to stop seeing ghosts in the faces of her only remaining family. She needs to heal, to become stronger, to make peace with magic again.

Merlynn does not have time for her thoughts to linger on an enigmatic stranger with fathomless eyes.

And yet - she keeps running into him.

Grocery shopping, where he passes by and offers suggestions on the local produce. At Ella's _Magic Shop_ , where he takes a moment to greet her before getting down to some town council business with her niece. On the Viridity campus, where he helps her home after a particularly tough session with Kebi, the psychologist that Ella insists she sees. In the forest, where he happens upon Merlynn frantically trying to soothe her daughter after Maggie had a magical accident.

Over and over, William Black keeps _being there_ right when Merlynn needs someone.

She entertains the paranoid thought that he's doing it on purpose, stalking her or keeping tabs on her or some other nefarious deed. It's what James would have done. But the thought is swiftly vanished by how _remote_ he is about all of their interactions, as if speaking with Merlynn is absolutely uninteresting. His politeness seals the notion that all of their run-ins are random, a product of chance.

Or luck, if Merlynn still believed in it.

Overtime, though, she grows accustomed to seeing him around, a totem of silent strength and mystery and serenity. And Maggie - Merlin bless the girl - gets used to him, too. Somehow, even though Maggie _clearly_ remembers Ephraim Black more than Merlynn, the child manages to work right through her fear and begins to regard William as a person who she is comfortable around.

It baffles Merlynn at first how much Maggie seems to like the man. She doesn't understand how its _possible_ \- not until Maggie disappears one afternoon.

Merlynn is frantic in her search for her daughter, completely driven by instinct and weak flares of magic that is only _just_ coming back to her. She tears out of the little corner grocery store and dashes into the street, eyes rapidly spinning around in search of fiery red curls just a few shades darker than her own. Heart pounding in her chest, Merlynn skids around a corner, then another, and then another, continuously drawn further into the hamlet of the town by a certainty that she will find her daughter.

And then she does and her stomach feels like lead.

In front of a pizza shop is a small collection of people, two men and a little girl. Fear churns like acid as Merlynn tries to take in the scene, tries to put some context as to why her baby girl is being held around the throat by a reedy young man with a crazed look in his eye while William stands before them with his hands loose at his side.

"Release the girl, Seth," William intones calmly.

The younger man, Seth, shakes his head back and forth, hands tightening around Maggie's pale throat. "N-no! Don't you see? I can get better - I only need just a piece of her magic-"

"Ella locked your magic away for a reason," William cuts him off sharply. "The last disaster you caused has not been forgotten and harming a child is no way to prove you have learned your lesson."

"That bitch has _killed_ me!" Seth yells, the accusation wildly echoing through the unpopulated street. "Tells me I've got magic, has someone teach me, but takes it away whenever she wants! She can't do that!"

Maggie whimpers in fright and William's expression darkens. "Let the girl go."

Desperation crosses Seth's face. "No! I just need a _little_ \- it won't hurt her too much, she won't even feel the difference - just a bit of her magic -"

Merlynn can't quite see what happens next, but there is a shift at William's feet and his eyes bleed _black_ and then suddenly Seth is unconscious on the ground, guarded by a massive shadow shaped like a bear -

And Maggie is in William's arms, sobbing.

Merlynn watches as William tenderly smooths Maggie's curls, kneeling so that Maggie can wrap her arms around his neck, and her heart swoops. Because even though Maggie and William look nothing alike, Merlynn is suddenly struck by a realization that Maggie treats William like a father.

Merlynn can recall Solomon doting on her the same way that William does Maggie.

Her heart thuds, a sigh escaping her lips loud enough to draw Maggie's attention. "Mommy!" Maggie cries, running from William's arms and into Merlynn's. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get lost! I swear, I didn't mean it - and that that mean man - but then Black _saved_ me with Cochise and -"

Merlynn wilts in relief at having her baby girl in her arms again. She calms Maggie's distraught hiccups, saddened that her daughter has been so scared that she behaves years younger than she is - but she is also overwhelmingly relieved that William was once again right there when Merlynn needed him most.

"Thank you," she mouths to him while Maggie cries.

William offers a rare smile, nothing more than a tilt of his lips, and dips his head before clicking his tongue and beckoning his familiar to drag Seth away.

The next Merlynn hears of Seth is when her niece apologizes to her for "Seth being a shithead and scaring Ducky". Ella assures Merlynn that Seth has been _taken care of_ , which Merlynn later learns means that Ella has erased all knowledge of magic from Seth's mind and bound his magic so tightly that he might as well be human. Seth is apparently left with the impression that he's been in a coma since sometime in college.

Merlynn is gratified by Ella's extreme measures.

But her thoughts linger on William Black more and more.

Weeks later, for the first time, she finds herself seeking him out. Her cheeks are still hot from asking Ella where William lives by the time she arrives at his quaint cabin. He answers the door to her knock in an unbuttoned white shirt, skin and hair and fabric all streaked with fragrant oil paint, and Merlynn swallows nervously, feeling half her age and _shy_.

"I-I wanted to thank you again," she starts, darting her eyes away from the strong line of his shoulders. "For what you did for Maggie."

William leans against the doorframe. "Anyone would have done the same."

Merlynn shakes her head. "No. We both know that isn't true," she insists.

William hums noncommittally. Merlynn represses the urge to scowl. Must he always be so inscrutable? She's never met anyone in her _life_ like William Black and it makes her feel so _flustered_.

"Maggie is quite fond of you," she finds herself confessing.

"Oh?" William tilts his head, silky strands of black hair falling from behind his ear. "And what of her mother?"

A little dimly, Merlynn realizes that William is _flirting_ with her. That he's _been_ flirting with her. For a _while_. She feels a bit dumb and, for a moment, can't seem to gather her words in response to what is really an innocent question, even if it is layered with connotations that are provocative enough to make her blush darkly in response.

Merlynn swallows, mustering up the boldness she and her sister had been known for in their youths. She lifts her chin and says, "Her mother would like some tea, if you have any."

William smiles softly and steps back in silent invitation for Merlynn to enter his home. Later, she will reflect that this first invitation is not unlike the silent way he had entered her life.

But it seems fitting enough for herself and William Black.

* * *

 **A/N: Fulfilling a request! And it also occurs to be that Jacob Black never made his way into this story. _Oh well_. At least that Seth thing got resolved, which some of you were surprisingly concerned about! **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**  
 **~cupcakeriot**


	5. nine-to-five

**nine-to-five**

* * *

"Are you judging me? I feel like you're judging me," Peter pouts, fingers loosely wrapped around a brown beer bottle as he leans into Riley's side. He turns beseeching blue eyes up to his partner. "Babe, make them stop."

Riley snorts, pushing Peter back with a finger to the forehead. "Please, I'm judging you too."

Peter scowls. "Well," he huffs disdainfully. "See if I ever put a ring on it, then!"

The table breaks out into jeers and laughter at that, their friends swallowing around mouthfuls of Happy Hour drinks. Ella, knowing her limits, has stuck to virgin Kahlua White Russian. She hasn't touched alcohol since that bender in college and she doesn't intend to ever again. Her friends and family, on the other hand, are very much casual drinkers. She doesn't hold it against them. If she weren't especially susceptible to shitty coping mechanisms, she would be thrilled that one of their own happens to own a bar, too.

As it is, Ella _is_ thrilled about the newly renovated pub-style bar - mostly because Tony has finally opened a place exclusive to the creatures in town. _Wilde's_ , named after one of Tony's favorite authors, has been a tremendous success since its opening night. Her eyes flit up to the cheeky quote stenciled in the chalkboard behind the bar and she hides a smile into her glass.

 _'Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.' Oscar Wilde_

Isn't that the truth?

She catches Tony's eye where he's tending to the orders of a few wolves and feels her body warm in anticipation when he winks at her across the dim room.

Ella tunes back into the conversation around the snug chocolate-colored booth, tracing her fingers over the aged varnish of the table. Everyone is still ribbing Peter about his new job teaching history at Charmstone High, because Peter is probably going to be a shit teacher considering how his mind goes about a mile a minute, but most of it is in genuine jest. He won't be the only one of them teaching, though. Riley splits his time between teaching drama at all three of Charmstone's public schools and Jane is crawling up the ranks at Viridity as a Professor of obscure-and-confusing math.

Ella leans back, letting her guard down in what is essentially a den of safety. She looks at the people around them, marveling at how much they've all grown up. She's twenty-one now and Tony has just turned twenty-five; it's been two years since The Order was taken care of and almost one year since she's been able to call herself a _wife_ and made a house in the woods into a _home_. Most days, she still wakes up surprised to be alive. She never thought she'd make it to twenty when she was a kid, and here she is, _thriving_.

So are all the Goodfellows. They all have jobs or the starts of careers. Riley and Jane and now Peter are teaching; Lillian is establishing herself at Charmstone's legal firm, although it hasn't escaped anyone's notice that she has her heart set on becoming Mayor in ten years, and Emet has taken up being a fencing instructor; Alice is a fledgling journalist and they're all reasonably sure that Jasper is working for The Coterie from his home computer, even if he won't confirm or deny it; and now Tony's a barkeep and an Alpha werewolf and he spends his down time writing what Ella is certain will be the next great American novel. Even _The Magic Shop_ is still going strong, now managed by Merlynn full-time since she lives in the loft above the shop with Maggie, and while Ella spends her time making products and experimenting with magical artwork, Alec has finally given in and works shifts at the shop, too.

Is this how life is supposed to be?

Ella thinks so. She's content with the little piece of happiness she's managed to carve out among all the bullshit. After everything, she thinks she's earned this - she thinks they all have.

* * *

 **A/N: A request fulfilled! What do the Goodfellows end up doing for work? This! And I can just _see_ Tony so clearly as a bartender and a writer, right? **

**As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	6. welcome to the world

**welcome to the world**

* * *

Anthony loves his wife. Really, he does. All the time. Always. He loves her at her worst and at her best; he loves her when she's bitchy from being sick as much as he loves her when she's fretting over injuries of his that are already healing.

His Ella in labor, however, is a goddamn nightmare.

The lights in the delivery room flicker once, then twice, then promptly burn themselves out in a burst of shattering glass as Ella grits her teeth through another long contraction. Her bronzed skin is flushed and sweating, hair sticking to her neck and temples, and her eyes molten silver with her magic more often than not. Ironically, she's had the same expression on her face taking out an enemy as she does bringing life into the world.

"Fuck!" she exclaims in a gust of air.

The midwife is a fae from Aro's clan and looks as scandalized by Ella's language as she does about the fact that the room is now pitch black. One of the delivery nurses, a hedgewitch, lets out a nervous titter before trotting to the door and requesting _replacement lighting_ , which is met with mutters of confusion from the staff in this section of the hospital.

Anthony's lips are a thin line, the rapid beating of his mate's heart loud in his ears and the scent of her pain sharp in his nose. The contractions, he knows, are going to get worse before they get better. But at least this labor is faster than Shae's. A small blessing, really, considering that Ella's magic burned right through any medication that might have helped things along.

"Almost there, I think," he tries in a low tone.

"Fuck you!" Ella spits venomously. She's squeezing the hell out of his hand, nails drawing blood as her fingers spasm. Thank Christ for werewolf healing, otherwise he's sure his hand would be broken.

"Your husband is right," comments the fae midwife. "You _are_ crowning-"

"Oh, fuck you too, you goddamn glittering mayfly!"

The midwife's mouth clicks shut.

Anthony clears his throat, reaching out to smooth Ella's wild hair away from her face. "Sweetheart, you're doing so well-"

"If you ever want to use your cock again, you'll shut the _fuck_ up, Tony! All of this is _your_ fault," Ella hisses threateningly. She leans to the side as much as she can, glaring at him in the dim light of the delivery room. "Don't think I forgot how this happened."

Both of Anthony's eyebrows rise in response to his wife's _charming_ rejoinder. He's man enough to admit that he has a healthy appreciation for the fact that Ella is alarmingly good at following through with her more inventive threats. And as she pointed out, the fact that she got pregnant this time really _is_ kind of his fault, given that it was _his_ werewolf biology that had a response to an herb toted around by some Wiccans passing through Charmstone. That response had ultimately resulted in what can only be described as an _unanticipated_ reaction - specifically, the incredible urge to knot his mate until the wolf in him was satisfied that she was secure.

Secure in the context meant pregnant. Naturally. Because absolutely nothing in their lives can be relatively normal for more than six months at a time.

Ella falling pregnant now is exactly what either of them would call opportune. Shea is rambunctious and already showing enough signs of shamanism that Ella has started giving her lessons - and it's a full time job, even with Black's guidance, because each shaman is _unique_ and no two play by the exact same rules. Everything is trial and error.

And now, they are bringing _another_ shaman into the world - and much earlier than they planned. They had thought that if they would have another child, they would wait until Shae was a little older, a little more in control.

But _Wiccans_.

Anthony sighs, allowing Ella's ire to roll off his back. She's in pain and not in control of her mouth and he can only imagine that giving birth is scary. It's scary for _him_ when he catches the scent of her blood and when her magic sparks erratically in the room and when her heart thumps so heavy and loud that - for one terrible moment - he fears her heart might actually give out.

And so he stays quiet, a stoic support at his mate's side while she curses and cries and _pushes_ and brings their son into the world.

Ella relaxes bonelessly against the hospital bed when a squalling cry pierces the room, slow tears of relief slipping down her hot cheeks. Anthony is quick to stand, cradling her face in his hands, his lips at her temple. He wonders who is more relieved at this moment, and then abandons the thought when a hastily-cleaned newborn is brought between them by the midwife.

Anthony watches as his mate cradles their son tenderly against her chest and he is certain in that moment that he has never seen anything more beautiful. When he tells her so, Ella snorts affectionately and calls him a sap.

She might be right.

"What will we name him?"

Ella hums thoughtfully, gently fingering the downy shock of curly walnut hair on their son's head. Like Shae, their child seems to be a fair mix of the two of them with tawny skin scattered liberally with freckles and eyes that Anthony suspects lighten to an arresting shade of grey-green. He can see his chin in his son, though, and he's helpless to do anything but smile.

Ella's eyes flutter to look up at him, all the vitriol of the past several hours wiped clean from her expression. She's radiating an equal amount of love and exhaustion when she says, "He looks like a Kieran, doesn't he?"

"Kieran Marcus Masen," Anthony agrees softly, tracing the little scrunch between his son's eyebrows. "Welcome to the world."

* * *

 **A/N: Another request fulfilled - two if you count Ella being a terrifying pregnant woman. Also the fuck or die trope? Squeezed it in!**


	7. petal

**petal**

* * *

Maggie twirls a curl around her finger, again and again, a nervous habit that she's never managed to kick to the curb. Not that she has anything to be nervous _about_. Not at all.

Okay, even she knows she's lying to herself. Crap.

Maybe she does have something to be nervous about. Or someone. But the _point_ is that it's better to twist her hair than let her magic twist up around her like a tornado, right? Right.

The door to _The Magic Shop_ chimes behind her, quickly followed by a derisive snort from her cousin. "At least wait inside, Ducky," Ella says from the doorway.

Maggie stubbornly stays facing forward. "And subject myself to your teasing? I think not."

"Waiting outside won't make him come home any faster," Ella points out reasonably. Too reasonably, if anyone asked Maggie. Of course, nobody _does_ ask her and, frankly, its inevitable that Ella would change after motherhood. The Ella that Maggie first clung onto with a bad case of hero worship is marginally different than the Ella she knows now - being a mother of two and seven years does a lot to change a person.

Seven years had changed a lot for _Maggie_ , after all. It makes sense that other people change, too. Just. Maggie doesn't do _well_ with change, even anticipated change, like certain somebodies going off to Europe for a graduation vacation before they start their next degree. She especially doesn't do well with change when that same certain somebody stole her first kiss and then left for Europe the next day.

Change is hard.

Maggie has no idea if she should actually be nervous at all, or if it would make more sense for her to be righteously angry.

She doesn't like being uncertain. Stupid werewolf.

Maggie clears her throat, still facing forward with her hair curled around her finger. Better to not look at one of a handful of people who can read every thought passing through her head just by looking at her face. "I'm fine where I am," she insists.

"Uh huh," Ella says dubiously, but she goes back into the shop anyway.

One thing Maggie has always loved about Ella? She understood the concept of _distance_. Maybe a little too well, sure, but Ella has always given her space when she needs it, unlike her mother who takes helicopter parenting to a whole other level when she's got a mind to be worried about Maggie. Not that Maggie exactly blames her mom, all things considered, but still.

Maggie finds herself winding bigger chunks of her fiery hair around her finger as the minutes tick and tick and tick forward. It's a fight against her own self control to stop her foot from tapping against the pavement. One anxious outlet at a time.

If she takes a minute to think about it, she can seldom remember a time where being around Ben or thinking about Ben hasn't made her somewhat nervous. He's just so… _Ben_ , that exhilarating combination of highly emotive and fiercely intelligent, never afraid to say _exactly_ what's on his mind. She admires that about him almost as much as she admires the keenness in his steady deep amber gaze or the way he tips his head back, throat bobbing, when he is taken by laughter.

Maggie thinks that Ben tries to live with such abandon because of everything - everyone - he lost when he was younger. She finds it terribly brave. She wishes she could be like that all the time, instead of just with family, but some tiny part of her is always looking for malice in strangers. Maybe one day she'll be able to move on like her mom or like Ella. Maybe she just needs more time to get there. She's only eighteen, after all.

There's time. Especially since Ella is trying to pass along certain wisdoms about manipulating time.

At that thought, she cracks a small private smile. Magic always makes her feel light in her heart now that magic doesn't mean pain. Magic means freedom. Magic means -

 _Ben's back_.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Paul smirks at him from the driver's seat when Ben suddenly sits up straighter after the car passes over the town boarder. His best friend is a complete asshole, because Paul doesn't hesitate to glance over at him and say, "You know, if you move in on her any slower, I might just have to put my hat in the ring."

Ben rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't."

Paul's smirk widens. "Wouldn't I? You know, she's really _grown up_ , if you catch my drift. Catching all kinds of eyes around town -"

"Paul," Ben warns.

"Relax," Paul says with a roll of his eyes. He turns onto another street, easily navigating the narrow roads of their hamlet town. "Everybody knows you've got your eye on her - and she's completely oblivious to any attention she gets. I almost feel bad for you, actually. You poor bastard."

Ben bites back the jealous growl trying to rumble out of his throat. It's irrational to be so damn possessive of a girl he's only kissed once - and fleetingly, at that - but he can't seem to help it. When Paul said Ben's had his eye on Magnolia Black, he wasn't exaggerating. Sometimes, it feels like Ben's been waiting for Maggie to grow up forever, not just for a few years. He'd noticed her when she was fifteen and he's kept noticing her ever since. His trip to Europe was supposed to be a distraction as much as a celebration for graduating, but all he could think about was getting tangled up in wild red curls.

He might actually be going to hell for some of those thoughts. And his spontaneous kiss right before he left? Big mistake on his part - just real shit planning, honestly.

Thank God she's eighteen now, otherwise Ben's ass would be toast - whether by her protective step-dad or by her protective cousin remains to be determined, but the point still stands.

At least nobody had made any headway while he was gone, if Paul is telling the truth.

Ben really hopes that Paul isn't dicking around.

"Hey, drop me off here," Ben says as the town square comes into view.

Paul scoffs. "That eager, huh?"

"Shut up."

"You're kind of pathetic, man. Two months away and you're still acting like a pup for some girl."

"Not just some girl," Ben corrects immediately.

Maggie would never just be _some girl_ to Ben. She's too amazing to be anything but _the_ girl - kind and noble, equally sharp-tongued and compassionate and _so_ insightful sometimes that it makes his head spin. And it isn't like he's as oblivious as Maggie is; he's known that she's had a bit of a crush on him since way before he'd noticed her, and he can only cross his fingers that her interest hadn't changed in the time he'd been gone.

Otherwise, Ben doesn't know what he or his wolf would do.

The brakes on Paul's car whine as he idles to a stop near the curb. Ben hoists his bag from the back seat, exits the car, and pointedly ignores Paul's chortled _Good luck_ after he slams the door closed. Bag in hand, Ben watches as Paul pulls away, taking a moment to gather his wits and do a cursory scent-test to make sure he doesn't reek of travel and airplane. Then he turns around, ready to seek Maggie out at her favorite haunts, only to stop in his tracks, bag falling from his hand.

She's already there, watching him from across the street, equally as frozen in her tracks as he is frozen in his place. Her hair is longer, the ends reaching the dip of her waist, and there is a rosy flush from sun exposure across the bridge of her nose. Ben swallows, unable to help his eyes tracing over the generous curves of her frame, helpless but to admire the way the haltertop dress shows off the shape of her bust or the flair of her hips.

Did she dress up for him? No, surely not. All Maggie owns are dresses, as far as he's seen. The fact that she's wearing a cream one decorated in a golden floral print almost the same shade as his eyes is nothing more than a coincidence. Right? Right.

Unless it isn't.

As he stands there, dumbstruck and frozen across the street, Ben is treated to the sight of Maggie's fair skin flushing brightly - and the wolf inside preens, a smug sort of knowledge that two months hadn't done much to make Maggie indifferent to him like he'd feared.

Ben rolls his shoulders back, subconsciously channeling his cousin and Alpha, and takes a step forward.

It's time.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

He looks good. Really good, actually. Europe must have been good for Ben, because he looks healthy and revitalized, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he jogs across the street, skin all golden-hued and his teeth flashing in a broad grin.

Maggie's heart flips over in her chest. He looks happy to see her - _her_.

That was a good thing, right? Better than things being awkward after that spontaneous kiss, which is what she'd been expecting. Or dreading, more like.

When Ben stops in front of her, maybe a bit too close to be considered a polite distance, Maggie has to crane her head back a little to get a good look at him. He'd turned twenty-three over the summer and his physical proximity makes her feel terribly young. Still, she can't look away.

"You're back," she states needlessly.

His boyish grin widens and he leans down, dropping his height closer to her own. "How nice of you to notice," he teases. "Did you miss me?"

Maggie's cheeks burn and her eyes dart away.

Ben chuckles. She watches - more than a little stunned - as he plucks at one of her curls, loosely wrapping it around his finger and giving it a good tug. "I missed you."

It's astonishment at his naked honesty, even partially masked by good humor, that makes Maggie suck in a sharp breath and turn wide eyes up at Ben. She blinks rapidly, mouth a little dry. "You did?"

Ben's smile softens. "Of course I did, petal," he tells her gently. "You didn't think I went around kissing girls I wouldn't miss, did you?"

"So you really did mean to kiss me?" Maggie blurts out. She's mortified the next second, because _why would she ask that, oh Merlin_.

Ben stops twisting her curl, staring at her in mild stupefaction. "Well," he says after a moment. "It wasn't an accident. It's not like I tripped and fell on your lips, or anything."

"I know that," she says quickly. "I just - I didn't know why - and then you just _left_ \- and-"

Suddenly, Ben is closer than before. "Did you want me to kiss you again, just so you know it wasn't an accident the first time? I wouldn't mind. Honest. Actually, I would be delighted to kiss you again."

"Oh," Maggie says, a bit dimly.

Ben's expression becomes serious, somewhat thoughtful. "In fact, I wouldn't mind being the only man to kiss you." He pauses then, eyes flashing lupine gold. "Ever," he tacks on, the barest of a sub-vocal growl passing between them.

"Oh," Maggie breathes again.

"Yeah," Ben says against her lips, carefully capturing her mouth in a lingering, sweet kiss that makes her head spin and her spine practically melt.

Maggie is smiling when he pulls back, her magic fluttering like a hummingbird in excitement, all of her previous anxiety about Ben's return totally forgotten.

How silly of her to have been nervous.

* * *

 **A/N: Huh. Turns out Ben is a smooth motherfucker. Who knew? And does anyone actually know what the canon Maggie is diminutive for? I don't, so I went with Magnolia just so Ben could call her _petal_. Because this girl just has a lot of nicknames.**


	8. the joys of parenthood

**the joys of parenthood**

* * *

The first time Shae fully shifts into an animal, it's in the middle of the night and goes unnoticed until Ella passes by Shae's room to wake her up for school. There is nothing that quite resembles the panic a parent feels when their kid isn't in their bed in the morning. Ella isn't ashamed to admit that she tears through the house for a solid ten minutes before Tony, holding their sleepy toddler against his chest, calmly reminds her she has _magic_.

A few minutes later, after tracking down Shae's lifeline and _popping_ directly to her location, Ella is staring up at a tree, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Somehow, her six year old has managed to shift into a leopard cub and has gotten herself stuck on a thick, high branch.

Because of course.

Ella rubs at her forehead. Maybe it's time to bring Black in sooner rather than later.

She just…needs to get her kid out of the tree first.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Honestly, Ella feels kind of dumb. Until it became an issue, she hadn't put much thought into teaching her children how to control their power. She assumed that _she_ would be teaching Shae and Kieran how to use magic and that Tony would instruct them on how to shift between forms - but those assumptions were terribly naïve. The fact of the matter is that while she and Tony _might_ have been able to muddle through teaching their kids, it would be stupid to do such a thing when a perfect teacher was already within reach.

Really, it isn't any different than Merlynn asking Ella to teach Maggie, since Ella was the only other magician with a dual heritage. By default, Ella _knows_ more about how to reconcile battling internal magics than Merlynn and it makes her a more qualified teacher.

Black is a shaman; he knows what it's like to struggle with that kind of dual control over his body and his magic; he's the best teacher Ella could hope to have for her children. And he'd been a mentor of hers, too. His influence had made mastering some magic easier than if she'd just went forth alone.

Still, watching Black sternly guide Shae though her first intentional shifts, she has to push down some irrational resentment. This is just one of those things that has to be taken on the chin.

She makes her peace with it - like any decent parent would.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Kieran's first full accidental shift happens just days after he turns four and Ella promptly looses her mind. It's one thing to know that all shamans have an innate preference for the kinds of animals they shift into - Black prefers birds and Shae has a tendency to shift into mammals. Tony and Ella had been expecting Kieran to be the same.

But then, in the middle of a summer picnic, Kieran shifts into a bee.

Her son is a bee amid a few _dozen_ bees that are drawn to the sweet-smelling fruits and flowers in their backyard.

"Nobody move a _muscle_ ," Ella hisses out and all of the Goodfellows immediately halt at the danger in her voice. Even Shae, now seven, senses the seriousness of the moment. Ella's eyes flitting from where her son _had_ been to where she sees the whipcord stretch of his lifeline.

Carefully, she creates a bubble-like ward around the single bumble bee her baby had become, summoning the ward into the cup of her palms gently. Across from her, Tony's expression is frozen and taut.

Peter, of course, is the one that voices what they're all thinking. "Damnit," he whines after a beat. "I'm never going to be able to kill another bug _again_."

Ella laughs hysterically.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

"No more kids."

Tony levels her with a calm stare. "Ella."

Ella stands from their bed, hands on her hips. "No, I mean it, Tony. I don't think I can _do_ this," she declares wildly. "One kid gets stuck in trees and the other likes to hang out with fire ants _for fun_. I'm already going batshit with worry trying to keep up with _two_. I won't be taking a gamble with a third one!"

Tony sits up on his elbows, smile soft and quirked to the side. "Might be a little late for that."

"What?"

Deliberately, Tony's eyes drop down to her flat stomach - and stay there.

Oh.

"Goddamnit!" she exclaims. "This one better not fly!"

(As it turns out, Cassian _does_ prefer shifting into avian forms when he's old enough. She never should have tempted fate.)

* * *

 **A/N: Ah, kids. They'll drive you crazy.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	9. stories to tell

**stories to tell**

* * *

They have all heard the stories. It's sort of unavoidable to be regaled with the great and harrowing tales of Charmstone's various Monsters of the Week when said monsters happen frequently enough that they'd all have to be deaf, blind, and stupid to have missed what's going on. Plus, the dramatic retellings by Uncle Peter and the watered-down bed time stories told by Dad are _terrific_ hints that their idyllic childhoods have been the product of a _lot_ of hard work. And even if Mom point-blank refuses to talk about any of it, it's hard not to notice when Mom's attention suddenly becomes laser-focused on _something_ before she freaking vanishes into thin air to go deal with _whatever_ is causing trouble.

It isn't until Shae is thirteen or so that it finally dawns on her that the _real_ stories aren't nearly as funny or adventurous as the ones she's been told. She only figures it out because she'd been staying up late texting Leah about cute boys at school - meaning Garrett, if anyone is asking Shae - and because of the awful ruckus that draws her attention downstairs.

Shae had snuck to the second floor landing, straining her ears with a frown on her face. Her phone had buzzed in her hand - _what's going on? -_ and Shea had quickly tapped out a reply - _parents just got home, think someone's hurt, brb -_ before training her full attention on piecing together the shuffling and pained hissing and snapping voices downstairs.

"You need to go to a hospital," she could hear Dad saying.

"I'm _fine_ ," her mom gritted out, followed by a flash of silver that illuminated the wall over Shae's head. "See? Good as new."

" _Ella_." Shea imagined her dad's face, that grim expression that shadows his features any time she or her siblings do something particularly stupid. "You can't keep doing this. We have _kids_ \- and we never know if taking a hit that hard is going to…"

"I was prepared for it," Mom said soothingly. "It was a calculated risk."

Dad sighed sharply. "Nice to know your youthful arrogance is still going strong."

Shae could almost picture her Mom's eyebrow arcing upward. "It's hardly arrogance if I know I'm going to make it," she countered. "I'm chosen, remember?"

"That's not a guarantee."

Her parents fell silent.

"I know," Mom said quietly after a moment. "I'll be more careful. Promise."

Shae's phone vibrated in her hand again, but all she could do was sit back against the wall, her stomach sinking _down_ to her feet. Had her mom been injured _that_ badly? Could she have _died_? Were all the shenanigans that Uncle Peter talked about more dangerous than any adult had let on?

After that, any time Shae hears about a new threat prowling the town, worry seizes her tightly - because she knows her parents are invariably on the front lines and that there isn't any guarantee that both of them will come back unscathed. Or come back at all.

And that's when the idea forms in her mind.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

One of the first lessons Black ever taught her - and eventually Kieran and Cassian - was that shamans are creatures of dual natures. They are shapeshifters as much as they are magic-casters; they are part of the astral plane as much as they are the physical plane; they can pass as human as easily as they can mingle with creatures. But they are also limited.

In magic-casting, shamans have the capability of being marginally powerful since they are the offspring of magicians. But a shaman will never be _as_ powerful as a magician. If anything, a shaman with training can cast spells to match a witch or warlock, some with more ease than others. The Masen kids in particular come into their spell casting with ease, although unlike their mother, they each rely on an assortment of runes, sigils, and incantations rather than a sheer force of will.

In shapeshifting, each shaman has a predetermined preference for the types of animal forms they can take. Shae has a tendency to shift into feline quadrupeds, everything from house cats to tigers; Kieran is somewhat more unique, taking the shape of insects as easily as reptiles; and Cassian is a flier, shifting into all manner of birds as he grows older. The shifting comes more naturally once familiars have been determined in the astral plane, of course; acting as anchors, a shaman's familiar helps the shaman remember their inborn shape.

Shea relies on Eloise to remind her that she is human and seventeen and still kind of naïve about the world. And Eloise, on the silver astral plane in the form of a lynx, taps into her thoughts to at least _try_ to stop Shae from doing something monumentally stupid.

Admittedly, Eloise is mischievous enough that Shae usually ends up doing something stupid anyway.

Which kind of made all the other lessons Black _tried_ to impart on Shae less effective than they probably should have been.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

"Hey, Shae."

In the span of a second, Shae feels every inch of her body leap into awareness, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, in a full-body shiver that is _this close_ to not being repressed. She catches Leah's gaze with wide-eyes and Leah makes a complicated expression, all meaningfully raised brows and twitching lips. Shae returns that look with one of her own, a silent question - _is it him_ \- and Leah nods as subtly as possible.

Shae swallows and schools her expression into a carefully-crafted veneer of nonchalance and then she turns around, her shoulder brushing the cool metal of her open locker.

Garret Johansson is standing at his own locker, rummaging around the awful tornado of papers and textbooks with a particular kind of focus. As she watches, a curtain of mahogany hair falls over his face; he tucks it behind his ear distractedly and Shae just about _dies_.

"Garrett," she greets with admirable cool. She tries to make her staring less obvious and more curious, but she's pretty sure she falls short of the mark. She peers into his locker anyway. "Find anything interesting in there?"

Garrett looks up, smiling ruefully. He has really great eyes - super intense - a deep blue closing in on earthy tones around the pupil, surrounded by stupidly long eyelashes. He glances between her and his lockers. "Just about everything I'm not looking for, naturally."

"Sounds about right."

"Yeah. It'll be a miracle if Mrs. Hayes doesn't actually murder me."

"Lost your homework again?"

Garrett sighs, scrunching his nose up. "Do you think she'll buy the classic _my dog ate it_ excuse?"

Shae snorts. "Not if you already used it this week."

He lifts his chin. "Point."

Garret might have said something else, but then he is stumbling forward against a force hitting his back. Shae scarcely has time to be alarmed before her nose - not as keen as a werewolf's, but close - identifies a familiar enough scent. Quill, who Shae has known through the grapevine of Charmstone's packs since she was small, has glommed onto Garrett's back, apparently unconcerned about exposing a human - albeit, a _potential_ human - to werewolf strength.

"Gar-bear, my _man!_ " Quill greets warmly. "What's the what? You find your project?"

"Afraid not," Garrett grunts. "Get your heavy ass off me!"

"Are you calling me fat?" Quill demands affronted, stepping backward with a put-upon sigh. "I'll have you know _this,_ " he gestures to the length of his body, "is _all_ muscle, alright? Let's just be clear about that. Can't have you shaking my confidence before swimsuit season."

"Oh, please spare us," Leah pitches in dryly. "Nobody needs to see you in a swimsuit."

Quill leans around both Garrett and Shae, leering openly at Leah. "Maybe you don't _need_ to, but you _want_ to, right?"

"Wrong."

Quill opens his mouth, then hesitates with obvious skepticism. "Is this just you saying mean things like usual, or is this you actually _knowing_ that people don't want to gaze upon my manly bod?"

Leah stares at him. "I don't need to be djinn-touched to know that."

"And that would be the sound of my ego dying a slow, painful death," Quill mutters, shooting Leah a look caught between adoration and irritation.

Poor bastard will never learn.

The bell signaling the end of break rings, effectively spurring them all into action. Shae shuts her locker with her elbow and turns to trot off to English with Leah - but then a warm hand closes around her wrist and she spins around with a sharp intake. Garrett has deliberately touched her, stopped her from leaving.

"Hey, wait," he says quickly, absently closing his locker without looking away from her. "I wanted to ask you something."

 _No. Way._

By some miracle, Shae's voice isn't trembling with excitement when she responds. "Ask away."

He licks his lips. "So…" Garrett trails off, jaw ticking as he seems to muster up some courage. "So, listen, I was wondering…Well, I know you're taking Natural Sciences this semester and I was hoping you would be kind enough to tutor me before the midterms?"

Oh.

"Sure," she says, a little dismally.

Garrett grins, wide and swift. "Great. Can we meet at Sam's, maybe around 4?"

"Sounds _great_."

Either Garrett doesn't notice her less-than-enthused tone or he has more tact than to comment on it, but soon enough he and Quill are going one way and Leah and Shae are going another. When she and Leah round the corner to the next hallway, Shae groans into her hands.

"Oh, my _God_."

"I know," Leah says sagely. "You actually held a full conversation with him. That's a first."

She levels Leah with a withering stare. "First of all, _rude._ And second - didn't you hear that?"

"Yeah. You're going to be mooching off my parents this afternoon. Again."

Shae whacks Leah's arm. "No, not that - I mean, _yes_ , but did you hear the part when he said I'm basically only useful to him because I'm a huge nerd?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure he didn't say that."

"It was implied."

"I really don't think it was."

"He wants me to _tutor_ him," Shae bemoans.

"Yeah, it's a great opportunity," Leah drawls.

"What?"

Leah looks at her as if she's being dumb on purpose. "Have you watched any television in your life? Everyone knows that tutoring is _rarely_ actual tutoring. It's a chance to, you know, get close."

Shae had not realized that.

Suddenly, it doesn't seem _so_ bad that she's going to be helping Garrett pass the midterm. After all, midterms are three weeks away and _that_ means she has three weeks of one-on-one time with Garrett Johansson. Maybe that'll be enough time for him to _finally_ see her.

Maybe.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Or maybe not.

"He actually needs tutoring," Shae hisses as she leans over the diner's counter. She'd left Garrett back in the corner booth under the guise of getting them something to drink, but really, she'd been wallowing in teenage despair and needed to retreat to lick her metaphorical wounds.

Leah, working behind the counter, slaps a wet rag by Shae's elbow before scrubbing at a stubborn bit of syrup glued to the vinyl. "Good thing you actually _are_ a nerd," Leah says lightly.

Shae pouts. "I never should have gotten my hopes up."

"Poor baby."

Shae sighs. She can't just hide from Garrett forever, so she might as well get drinks. She is just about to tell Leah what she wants to order when Leah's mom, Emily, pops out of the kitchen with two tall milkshake glasses. Emily places them on the counter under Shae's nose, pats Leah's cheek, and then disappears back into the kitchen.

Shae stares at the swinging kitchen door. "You know, I love your mom and all, but that will never _not_ be creepy."

"Preach," Leah mutters, her wildly-cropped vibrant violet hair partially hidden beneath a backward baseball cap.

Shae eyes her best friend. "You're not going to start doing that too, are you?"

Leah shrugs. "I doubt it. Grandma was the djinn and Mom's gift is, like, oddly specific, so there isn't much of a chance that I'll be able to do any nifty party tricks like that."

"Yeah," Shae says slowly. "But…you always get the perfect presents."

"Because I pay attention to what people like."

"You can always predict the rumors going around town."

"That's called observational skills."

"You knew Cassian was going to break his arm."

"He was jumping out of trees _repeatedly_. That's just common sense."

Shae squints at Leah. "Uh huh."

Leah rolls her eyes. "Just take your milkshakes and get back to your sad little tutoring session."

Shae makes a face a Leah, but she does what Leah says anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable any more than she really _needs_ to, right? Besides, even if Garrett really _does_ just want Shae to tutor him, that isn't so bad. Not really. At least she gets to be around him that way, which is nothing to sneeze at.

But…it's still kind of a let down.

Then again, does Garrett _really_ seem the type to make a move on her by tricking her into tutoring him? Not really, if she's being honest. And that's exactly _why_ she likes him.

That, and the way his face lights up in delight when she pushes a salted-caramel brownie smoothie in his direction, and the way he picks up so quickly on the material she helps him go through, and the way he's so direct about, well, _everything_.

She's helpless but to love him.

Just…from afar. Apparently.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Sometimes, Shae wonders how her parents make their relationship work. She knows the story, obviously; privately, she calls it The Romance That Time Tricked, given the whole time-loop, he-knew-her-but-she-didn't-know-him thing. Uncle Peter tells that particular story the most, probably because most of it is kid friendly.

But even knowing the story, she sometimes takes a good look at who her parents _are_ and can only wonder how they've stayed together so long. Even factoring in werewolves mating for life, it's kind of surprising. If she thinks about it, the surprising part is probably her mom, with her hair-trigger temper and her stubbornness and all the other stuff that _should_ mean her mom is untouchable.

And yet - _twenty years_ of marriage and three kids and a whole town they seem to feel responsible for and two different businesses. All the proof that they made it work is _there_ , but it's still surprising.

So, later that night while Shae is wallowing in the misery of being Garrett's science tutor, it's inevitable that these thoughts once again cross her mind when the sound of shattering glass and her mom's raised voice rings through the house.

Shae is on her feet and leaning over the stair railing in three seconds flat, quickly followed by Kieran and Cassian from their rooms. The siblings exchange looks of concern as they listen to their mom flying into a rage. Shae can taste the angry-bitter of her mom's magic on the back of her tongue, like a sour apple that makes her lips pull together in an unhappy frown.

Underneath the sound of crashing furniture is the low, calm tones of her dad's voice, coaxing her mom away from whatever brink she's spun off into. Whatever set her off must be bad.

Growing up with a parent with mental illness, Shae has always known that her mom isn't like other moms in more than one way. And both of her parents have been super up-front about borderline personality disorders and how mental illness shouldn't come with a stigma and all that jazz.

But the fact that Mom probably just destroyed their living room?

Shae turns her head, staring meaningfully at Kieran.

Kieran meets her gaze and shakes his head _no_.

She widens her eyes.

He makes a face.

She pouts.

He sighs and rolls his grey-green eyes - and then in one second, the gangly shape of her fourteen year old brother is replaced by an innocuous fly, which immediately dips downstairs to go become a literal fly on the wall. Shae would have gone to spy herself, but her smallest form is still too big to go unnoticed and their dad's senses are _way too sharp_ to be tricked by anything other than an actual bug.

In the meantime, Cassian tucks himself under Shae's arm with a conspiring grin. They wait, trying to hear what's going on downstairs in a house full of sound-proofed rooms. The most Shae can assume is that her mother is _really_ upset, because she keeps saying things like _I can't do this again, Tony_ and her dad keeps going _Someone else can deal with them_ and the like. It must be a full half-hour later before there is a rush of noise downstairs accompanied by the tang of magic repairing whatever was broken.

And _then_ there is a fly zipping past Shae's nose and into Kieran's room - and Shae loops her arm around Cassian's elbow, tugging him along and closing the door behind her. When she turns around, Kieran is again standing in the middle of his room, looking awfully like their dad when he's _thinking_ , all pensive and wrinkled between his brows.

"So?" Shae asks, hushed and expectant. "What's going on?"

"There's trouble," Kieran answers.

"Yeah, I figured that much," Shae retorts. She raises both of her eyebrows. "But why was _Mom_ so freaked?"

Kieran lifts his eyes from his messy floor - and, _wow_ , does he really need to remember what a hamper is for - and swallows heavily. "Do you…Do you remember those stories Uncle Peter used to tell us?"

Shae crosses her arms over her chest. "Uncle Peter told us a lot of stories."

"The one about the evil witch," Kieran prompts, then bites his lip. "You know, the one where the girl defeats the witch but has scars to remember the witch by…."

Comprehension dawns on Shae's face.

Even though Uncle Peter _tried_ to dress up the stories as swash-buckling adventures, each of the siblings had eventually figured out that those stories have a lot more truth than they originally assumed. Like, the story about the girl and the evil witch? It's really a story about _Mom_ and an evil witch - Mom even has the scars to prove it. Shae has _always_ hated that story and the scars trailing up Mom's forearms and circling her wrists. Knowing what she knows about runes and sigils, Shae has been able to surreptitiously put together what that particular combination might mean and it almost makes her physically sick.

"Are you saying the evil witch is back?" Cassian asks in a small voice.

Kieran looks a little grim as he says, "I'm saying that a _trio_ of evil witches are up to no good in Charmstone."

He might leave off the _and Mom is too traumatized to deal with it_ , but Shae hears that anyway.

There is a stone in the place of her stomach. Today _really_ sucked. First, the disappointment with Garrett and _now_ Shae can't help but be worried about her mom, who she suspects will put herself in danger to deal with a trio of dark witches even if she isn't mentally prepared to do so.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea she once had wakes up again.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Shae isn't the most popular girl in her grade, but she _is_ a junior, which gives her some leverage, and since she's known pretty much everyone since elementary school, she knows a lot of people. The most useful - and tolerable - ones are people she considers friends.

Leah, who of course is a djinn in denial. A pair of banshees; Tanya, who is a senior, and Irina, who is basically Shae's cousin since she's Aunt Alice's daughter. Quill, a werewolf, and his younger brother Embry, who is actually Kieran's best friend. And Alistair, of course, who is doing the fae equivalent of rebellion by going to a high school outside of the faerie realms _just_ to piss off his parents, which Shae respects on a very fundamental level. All the other offspring of her extended family are closer to Cassian's age and on sheer principle, she doesn't make any effort to outsource to them. They're too young.

But everyone else Shae considers fair play, even Embry and Alistair, who are both newly fifteen. She knows Kieran well enough that he would be offended to not be included on her _idea_ , so she invites him too.

They gather together at the diner on an evening when Shae is already staying out late to tutor Garrett - much less suspicious that way, in case any parents get nosy. Of course, Shae doesn't count on Garrett getting curious once he notices that the population of the diner is generally _younger_ than it usually is and when she admits that she's organized a meeting, he actually smirks and declares that he wants in on whatever she's planning.

Shae stares at him for a long moment. "Alright…"

Strictly speaking, even though Garrett is ideal to Shae in many ways, he _isn't_ exactly ideal for what she has in mind that evening. He's mostly human; sure, he has the _potential_ to find his spark and learn magic, or he could even survive a bite to become a werewolf, but at the moment, he _hasn't_ found that spark and he hasn't been bitten and so he is completely human. A really cute, really nice human, but a human all the same. And Shae needs….not humans.

It's a bit of a crunch fitting all eight of them into a booth made for a maximum of six people, but they make it work, legs tangling together and elbows digging into ribs. Alistair is the only one with common sense because, after a moment of trying to balance on the outer edge of the seat, he stands with a huff, grabs the back of a nearby chair, and drags it over to the end of the table to sit in. Like all fae, Alistair is kind of unfairly pretty, almost to the point where it's off-putting; skin all perfectly milky smooth, vibrant auburn hair, and piercing ice blue eyes, all of it underlain with an imperious impishness that makes Shae weary. But - fae have magic and even a fae as young as Alistair is able to create pocket dimensions that Shae can't even dream of creating. Alistair is vital.

He also gets straight to the point. "Why have you summoned us here?"

Shae places her elbows on the table, leaning her chin against her fists. "There's trouble brewing in town."

Leah snorts. "That's ominous. Did you practice in a mirror?"

" _No_ ," Shae says shortly. She lets her eyes rove around the table, landing on Irina. Unlike Aunt Alice, Irina's hair is as honey blonde as Uncle Jasper's, but her eyes are the exact shade of gimlet as the most powerful banshee in town. "Have you heard anything?"

Irina nibbles on her bottom lip. "I mean…I've heard Mom talking about something _she_ heard, but…"

"But you know that something's going on," Shae prompts.

Irina shrugs. "There is a sense of impending doom in the air, if that's what you mean."

Tanya nods briskly. "Yes, now that you mention it, there's something…tense about the town. My ears have been ringing for days, but no Whispers have broken through."

Irina looks relieved that Tanya was able to put her thoughts into words. "Same," she confirms.

"Is _that_ why we're here?" Quill asks, sounding amused. He has his arm hooked around the back of his brother's neck and tugs Embry closer, ruffling dark hair as he does. "If that's the case, then you're going to have to count this guy out. He can barely control his shift -"

"That's not true," Embry mutters. "I have better control than you did at my age."

"- And I'm pretty sure my parents would actually kill me with wolfsbane if I let him get involved in anything hinky," Quill continues.

Shae snaps her fingers. "That's exactly my point."

Alistair makes an interested noise; everyone else, including Kieran, looks confused.

Shae looks around the table again, letting her eyes linger on the legacies around her. She sighs, shaking hair out of her face. "Doesn't it bother you? Our parents were kicking ass and taking names when they were our age. Don't you want to be part of that same legacy?"

Garrett looks at her in sharp surprise and she knows that he's the first one to really _get_ what she's trying to do here. She briefly wonders if _this_ will make him see her - and just as quickly pushes the thought away.

"Speak for yourself," Leah scoffs. " _My_ parents only kick ovens and take orders."

"Sam is part of the Masen pack," Shae says swiftly. "He's probably been involved in things, you know."

Leah purses her lips and sits back.

"Listen, I'm tired of being coddled as much as you, but our parents have a handle on things. They don't need our help," Kieran points out, though he at least sounds a little uncertain.

Shae groans with a roll of her eyes. "Okay, Voice of Reason, could you _be_ any more lame?"

"I'm being rational," he says seriously. "We're just kids. What can we actually do?"

Shae raises both brows. "Mom was my age when she got involved in all of this. And so was Dad, actually."

Kieran's disapproving expression warps into thoughtfulness.

"Well, I'm not sure how much I would be able to help, but consider me in. I'm always ready to shake things up," Tanya announces.

Irina says, "If anything, I could probably just ask my mom what's going on. She's always honest about this sort of stuff, just in case."

Leah sighs explosively. "Oh, hell. If you're going to do something stupid, you know I'm going to do something stupid, too."

And at that, Quill grins brightly. "That's my cue to volunteer my services, as well."

"Me too," Embry says stubbornly.

"At the very least," Alistair says with a sly smile. "This promises to at least be interesting."

"Are you serious about this?" Garrett asks her, and when she nods decisively, his face hardens in determination. "Then I'll help you."

That leaves Kieran. He looks at her across the table, eyes flashing silver. "You know what we're up against."

"I think we can handle a few trumped up dark witches," she tells him.

"Hags."

"What?"

"They're called hags," he clarifies.

"Okay."

"And they're kind of a big deal," he adds.

Shae smiles sharply. "We're kind of a big deal, too."

"Fine," Kieran agrees, probably because he _knows_ she's right about a pair of shamans being more than enough to take on a couple of decrepit crones. "But if things go south, I'm telling Mom and Dad it was all your idea."

"Deal."

And that is how Shae pieces together what is probably the worst idea to hit Charmstone since _her_ parents cobbled The Goodfellows together.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Kieran's steps falter when they're about a quarter-mile away from home and the shimmer of Mom's wards are just barely visible to the naked eye. He turns and looks at her pensively. "Tell me why you're really doing this."

Shae stares. "I _did_ tell you why. I told everyone why."

"Yes," Kieran agrees impatiently. "But what's the other reason? The one you haven't even fully realized yet? If I'm going to do something colossally dumb with you, then I want to make sure it's at least for the right reasons."

Now it is Shae's turn to be pensive. She looks down at her feet for a moment. "Well…I mean, you heard Mom the other night, right? She said she couldn't _do_ this anymore. These evil witches-"

"Hags."

"- these _hags_ are a hard limit for her, you know? She's been through enough with that first one…And we're old enough to help, now. We _should_ be helping. This is our home, too. So, that's why."

"That's actually a good reason," Kieran says, sounding surprised.

Shae glowers at him. "Wow," she says flatly, skirting around him to continue the walk home. "You sure do have a lot of faith in me, Bug Boy."

"Hey! I object to that nickname!"

"I'm sure you do, you lizard."

Kieran huffs and hurries to match her stride. "You know, you should have some respect for my forms. It's not just insects and reptiles," he defends with a lifted chin. "I'll have you know that I'm working on a shift even more fearsome than your sabertooth tiger."

She scoffs. "Please. We both know that it was dumb luck I managed to shift into an extinct animal. What are you trying for, a T-Rex?"

Kieran lets the silence speak for him.

Shae gasps. "Kieran, _no_. There's literally a franchise of movies that says that's a horrible, no-good, plain _bad_ idea."

He sniffs disdainfully. "As if I would try for such a flawed form, anyway. Those tiny arms would be such a disadvantage and can you imagine trying to balance that head? No. I'm shooting for _velociraptor_."

"Oh, _no_. Really?"

"Really."

"That's such a bad idea."

Kieran rolls his eyes at her as they pass through Mom's wards. "No worse than _your_ idea," he points out.

And, yeah. He's probably right about that. Sometimes, it's a real pain to have a younger brother who is smarter than she is. Seriously.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Among the extended family, it's no contest for Shae to name her cousin Ben as her idol. The guy is just legitimately _cool_ and he's never given her any grief about any of her wackier ideas growing up; actually, much to her dad's consternation, Ben had _encouraged_ Shae's pranks and fits of fancy.

All the same, between being a psychologist and being married to Maggie, Ben has a very keen sense for when someone is hiding things. Specifically, Ben has an incredibly baffling ability to root out any secrets that might be kept close to the vest and _that_ is why Shae is eager to avoid him when The Goodefellows roll into the house for a totally conspicuous meeting.

Not that hanging out in her own room in her own house should qualify as hiding. Anyone else would assume Shae is just being a moody teenager or whatever. Not so much with Ben, though, who is bound and determined to read something into everything. Probably because, all things considered, it is kind of out of character that Shae isn't even trying to eavesdrop on the meeting downstairs like she usually does. Of course, while her parents are hashing out the hag situation downstairs, Shae has her own sources digging for the same information. Kind of funny, that.

Not so funny is when Ben slouches into her room fifteen minutes later, leaning on the doorway like he always does. "What are you up to?" he asks.

Shae, lounging sideways on her bed, immediately sits up. " _Up_?" she parrots. "Nothing's up. What's up with you?"

Okay, that could have come off a little less guilty.

Because Ben isn't an idiot, he latches onto that pretty quick. "What happened? Get in trouble at school? Failing a class? Have a fight with Leah?"

"No, no, and no," she responds flatly. "But thanks for assuming all my problems are so predictable."

"So, you are having problems," he says victoriously. "It's only natural. This is a rough time for any kid-"

Shae scoots off the edge of her bed. "The only problem I'm having right now is _you_."

Ben watches for a moment as she scrambles around her room looking for her backpack and her jacket. "I didn't meant to pry," he says at length. "Where are you off to?"

"I have a project. A school project," she adds. "For school."

"Right," he drawls slowly.

"So, I'm going to go now. Tell my parents I'll be back by curfew."

"Consider it done."

They stare at each other - and then Shae darts around Ben and down the stairs, hurrying into the twilight with old homework slung over her shoulder and no actual destination in mind.

Hopefully none of that was _too_ suspicious. Anything weird can be written off as Shae being Shae. Right?

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Most of the time, Shae is glad that her heightened sense of smell stays with her even when she's shaped like a human. But when she accidentally stumbles upon the nubby embankment in the Charmstone forest where the trio of hags have seen fit to make camp, she's _extremely_ grateful that her nose tells her about it before she can see it with her eyes.

Shae catches a whiff of sulfur and brimstone, and then quickly presses her back against a tree, her grip on her backpack white-knuckled. She can't see the hags, but she's close enough to hear them. Holy crap.

Okay. She knows what she needs to do. First things first - make sure they don't sense her.

As a shaman, Shae is particularly in-tune with the magic ensconced in nature; that magic always responds immediately to her, almost intuitively. It's nothing at all to carefully pull the magic of the forest around her, cloaking herself in it the same way a hunter might cloak themselves in the scent of their prey. It's basically hiding in plain view, except that doing _this_ means that even Shae's personal magic is completely hidden. Another lesson of Black's paying off ten-fold.

Heart high in her throat, Shae turns her attention to the whisper-croaking voices gathered around a crackling fire. Her brow furrows as she catches a phrase here and there that don't quite make sense. It's almost as if the hags are, well, haggling. Weighing the benefits of something versus another thing.

It isn't until one of them speaks more sharply, more resolutely, that Shae understands.

" _Three_ shamans are worth much more than a few measly magicians! Those magicians are seasoned and old - but the shamans are young!"

"Easy pickings!" agrees another.

"You're both fools," croaks the third. "I still say we should go after all of them."

"But why make more effort than we need to?" counters the first. "The shamans are just children - easy pickings."

Shae feels more than a little sick.

All her life, she's known that being a shaman is kind of rare - certainly as rare as magicians, considering it takes a magician to make a shaman. But she'd also taken for granted the fact that she has brothers and that she has a mentor who is a shaman and that Ben and Maggie would eventually have shaman children themselves. For Shae, shamans are less rare than magicians.

But shamans are also special in a way that magicians aren't. Aside from both having magic and limitless forms to shift into, what marks a shaman as truly unique is the duality of their magic; Shae can draw from her personal magical core with as much ease as she can draw from nature and without any unintended side effects. Everything about being a shaman is about duality. She can see why a bunch of hags would covet that kind of power.

And yet - it's _so_ gross because all she can think about is the fact that Cassian is _ten_ and Kieran is still fourteen for a few months and that she's not even old enough to _vote_. And these hags think that they're the perfect targets because they're young. It's their youth that excites the hags as much as the promise of the bounty that shamans carry.

Shae closes her eyes, thoughts racing.

Okay, so, admittedly she'd been more than a little naïve to think that inserting herself and her friends into this situation would be no more dangerous than a little weekend adventure. She hadn't been thinking about anything else than helping take some of the weight off her parents. She'd just wanted to prove herself.

But knowing what she knows now? Hearing what she's just heard?

Well.

Things just got _really_ personal.

Shae stays in place behind her tree as the night continues to darken the forest around her and as the hags continue talking amongst themselves. Her feet are aching and her knees are quivering, but she doesn't dare to move until she catches the sound of three slowing heartbeats which signal the hags going to sleep.

She waits a few more minutes, breath bated, and then dashes away from the camp - going back home where she should have been all along. She makes curfew by a few minutes, glad that her parents are still meeting with the Goodfellows so that they can't interrogate her about where she's been or why she's acting so squirrelly.

She needs some time to wrap her head around this.

That night, it takes a long time for Shae to fall asleep, and even then, her slumber is restless and disturbed.

 _Shae_ is disturbed.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

"You know, usually clandestine meetings are done better in broom closets. But I guess the backstage dressing room is just as good," Quill says as he follows the rest of them into the glorified closet behind the school auditorium. There's a bunch of discarded costumes from the most recent school play hanging up and he bats away a strange looking coat with a wrinkled nose. "Personally, though, I could do with a few less feathers."

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" Leah demands.

Quill looks at her lasciviously. "You could always _make_ me," he says suggestively.

Leah flicks his forehead, then turns to Shae with a frown. "The idiot brings up a good point, though. Why are we meeting back here?" She pauses. "And aren't we missing a few people?"

Compared to their initial meeting at the diner, Shea can't blame Leah for thinking that they're a few fellows short. Specifically, Shae had not extended an invitation to this meeting to Kieran, Embry, Irina, or Alistair, deciding that fourteen and fifteen year olds are entirely too young for what she has in mind. Excluding her brother and Alistair in particular meant that she really had to re-think her plans, but that's okay. Shae could be tremendously flexible when she wanted.

Her eyes rove between Leah, Quill, Tanya, and Garrett. It isn't ideal. Of the four of them, only Quill is really equipped to fight alongside Shae because of his werewolf stamina and healing factor. But, again, she can work with this. After all, she'll need _someone_ to be running interference.

When she says as much, she is met with a few incredulous looks. Shae sighs. "Okay, so, I accidentally stumbled across the hags last night and I overheard what they're up to," she confesses in a rush.

"Are you okay?" Garrett asks, while everyone else is looking either shocked or appreciative.

Shae blinks at the naked concern in his voice. "What? Yeah, of course. They didn't know I was there."

"What do they want?"

Shae drags her eyes away from Garrett and winces at Tanya. "Me and my siblings, apparently."

" _What?"_

Pushing her hair away from her face, Shae shrugs her shoulders. "Think of it as, like, a Hansel and Gretel sort of thing. The hags are hungry and us Masen kids look like tasty morsels."

"You need to tell your parents," Leah says immediately.

"Yeah, I'm with my girl on this one," Quill says with wide eyes. "This is suddenly…real gnarly."

"I can't tell my parents," Shae argues. "This is _personal_."

"Don't you think your parents would want to know?" Tanya asks, worrying a strand of golden hair around her finger. "Or at least, shouldn't you tell your parents that you know? I doubt that they're ignorant of what the hags want when they have Alice Hale to consult with."

Shae grimaces. Chances are that Tanya is right and Aunt Alice _does_ have an inkling as to what's going on - but Shae doesn't really see that as a deterrent. Instead, she says, "This is something that I think I have to deal with myself."

Leah frowns. "This isn't a test, Shae."

"Yes, it is," she counters quickly, stubbornly. She shakes her head, then sighs again. "Look, I have a plan, okay? I just need you four to keep everyone else distracted."

They don't _like_ it, even as she outlines her plans, but eventually Shae manages to twist their arms into agreeing to go along with what she wants - with the caveat that they will immediately tell the nearest adult if Shae doesn't check-in at the right time, which she agrees to in the full belief that she _can_ handle this solo act.

After, Garrett is the only one who lingers in the dressing room with her. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again.

Shea bobs her head. "The plan is pretty much foolproof."

"I wish I could do more to help you," he says softly.

Shae smiles at him tentatively. "You are," she says reassuringly.

Garrett stares at her and then frowns, as if Shae is being deliberately obtuse about something. He seems to bite back whatever he was going to say next, instead opting for a quick, warm smile. "I'll always be here for you, Shae."

As she watches him leave, she can't help but think that the way she _really_ wants him is the way she can't have him - because it's glaringly obvious that he isn't interested.

She's just a tutor for him and a friend. That's all.

And Shae has other things to think about.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Maybe it's a little impulsive - a little abrupt - but Shae knows its best to strike while the iron is hot. She knows where the hags are camping; it's midweek and the busiest time in her parent's schedules; Kieran has a library club that will keep him occupied; and Shae still has the convenient excuse of tutoring Garrett to explain her absence from the dinner table. Everything is lined up _just right_. She can't stall or wait, because if even one variable changes, then she's lost her chance.

So she tells a lie over text message to her parents that she'll be at Garrett's house helping him study, texts Quill to start drawing attention to himself, and texts Leah and Tanya asking them to run interference.

And then she shifts into her smallest, most agile form - a margay cat, both clever and lightweight - and slinks into the forest as the sun is setting, heading straight toward the hag's camp with single-minded focus.

When a shaman shifts into an animal form, they gain the same advantages and disadvantages that animal has. The margay is one of Shae's favorite forms because of how high the deck is stacked for this particular feline. A small, unobtrusive hunter with powerful hind legs, sharp teeth, and an ability to mimic sounds is just the sort of tools that she needs to pull this off.

Once her sensitive ears pick up on familiar croaking voices, Shae digs her claws into the bark of the nearest tree and climbs high. She jumps from branch to branch, working her way closer to the camp with each leap. Pressing her belly low to rough wood, her night-sensitive vision traces along the trees in the vicinity, sketching out the route that makes the most sense. Then her eyes dip down below and her ears pin backward in annoyance.

They're arguing amongst themselves again, which strikes Shae as wildly incompetent. Like, if _Shae_ was out for evil-doing, she'd be doing instead of sitting around talking about it. Probably a good thing that she's firmly on the side of good, then. Figures.

But - if they're too busy arguing, they certainly aren't going to notice her. So, _score_.

Turning around, Shae presses her paw against the main trunk of the tree are very carefully uses her claws to carve a set of sigils into the wood. It's a combination of things she's seen Uncle Alec and Mom use in the past on some quartz, part banishment and part lock. The idea is that she can trap the hags in a bubble that deprives them of their putrid, warped magic and then the whole problem is basically solved. Once she has connected the separate sigils with a binding rune, Shae leaps to the next tree to carve the same sequence - and then again - and again until the circle is complete.

The hard part done, Shae completes the circle by going back to the original tree she started at and calls up her magic from deep inside her chest. She closes her eyes and butts her head against the first sigil sequence, glad that she can perform this kind of magic without shifting back to human. Below, a shudder of silver-blue magic springs forth, creating barriers connected by the trees, as well as above and beneath the hags.

Shae dismounts from the tree, prancing alongside the barrier she's created. Inside, the hags are shrieking at each other, wailing about their lost magic or whatever, and Shae can only preen, tail high and straight, teeth bared in a feline grin.

Try and go after _her_ brothers? She doesn't _think_ so. Take that, nasty old hags! If cats could laugh, that's exactly what Shae would be doing. Victory is so, so sweet -

"Found you."

Shae freezes.

Crap.

She turns cautiously, craning her neck up with her ears lowered to the side. A lone, guilty feline sound whispers out of her throat as she sees Mom standing right behind her, unimpressed with her arms crossed over her chest and a flinty look in her eye.

"Oh, you're going to be grounded for so long, you won't even remember what your friends look like," Mom declares.

Shae believes her, because she isn't dumb, but it still isn't fair. Which is exactly what she exclaims as she shifts back into human. "I was just helping!" she argues explosively, gesturing to the hags caught in her trap. "Look! I found them and I took care of them!"

"No, what you did was go behind my back and put yourself in danger," Mom says coolly. "You were reckless."

"Not any worse than you in any of the stories we've heard!"

"Exactly. Those are _stories_ -"

"But they really happened!" Shae cuts in passionately. "They _really_ happened to you, so they aren't stories! I just wanted to help you so you wouldn't have to deal with this again! I don't see how that's a bad thing!"

Mom rubs at her temples and exhales heavily. "Did you even stop to consider that I might not want what happened to me to happen to you?"

Shae's teeth snap together as she closes her mouth. She hadn't considered that at all, actually.

Mom softens slightly. "Shae. You're so much like me in so many ways and that isn't always a good thing. This, what you've done, was dangerous and it could have ended so tragically. Do you understand that? It's not the sort of thing I want you to have to do, at seventeen or seventy. You don't have to grow up so fast, kid."

Shae wilts. "I'm not trying to grow up fast," she says weakly. "I just…I'm old enough to help, you know. You don't have to carry it all."

"You sound like your dad," Mom says fondly. Then she rolls her eyes. "I guess this serves me right. I put your Grandpa through the same kind of hell for years."

"So….does that mean I'm not grounded?"

Mom scoffs. "Oh, no, you're still grounded," she says. "You did a good job and I'm glad your safe, but your being punished for being _astoundingly_ dumb. Sound fair?"

"No," Shae mutters with a scowl.

But she hugs Mom anyway and Mom lets her stay and watch as, one by one, she seals up the hags' magic and delivers a few very colorful threats before sending the old crones on their way.

Actually watching what Mom has to do, though, with the blood pouring from fresh scars and hearing all the nasty things the hags have to say? Shae kind of considers that punishment enough for all her earlier arrogance.

Not that she's eager to argue about it.

Her Mom might be her hero - but she's also one scary woman.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

For the record, Dad isn't exactly happy with Shae, either. He gives an hour long lecture about impulsive decisions and then spends the next week making Shae explain the reasons for everything she does, from washing the dishes to taking a shower to doing her homework. It's a special kind of hell, really, but it does open Shae's eyes.

And it makes her realize that she's not as self-aware as she likes to pretend she is.

Kieran laughs at her the entire time - until she lets it slip that he'd been involved too, before she went solo.

Shae is appropriately smug when he glares mutinously at her.

Cassian is simply confused.

_/\\_/\\_/\\_

Garrett is looking at her, watching as she comes to a stop at her locker, dials in the combination, and pops the metal door open. He shifts so that his shoulder is leaning against his locket and keeps staring.

"Uh, hi?" Shae tries.

Garrett offers a small smile, but the rest of his face is serious. "I need to talk to you."

"Oh," she says. And then realization dawns and she's smiling apologetically. "Oh, yeah. I meant to talk to you too. So, the thing is, I'm _super_ grounded right now, so I won't be able to tutor you anymore. I'm really sorry."

He shrugs, drumming his fingers against his thigh. "How long are you grounded for?"

Shae winces. "At least a month, I think."

"I can wait that long."

Shae stops, then frowns. "Wait, what? No, you can't. Midterms are next week. You can't wait to be tutored for a month if you're trying to pass the midterm."

"Good thing I don't actually need a tutor."

"Okay, now I'm really confused," she mutters.

Garrett laughs, the sound warm and inviting. He leans closer to her, tucking dark hair behind his ear, his intense eyes pinning Shae in place. "I made up needing a tutor so I could spend time with you," he tells her bluntly.

Shae gapes. "What?"

"I've actually got an A in Natural Sciences." He pauses. "Also, you're not a very good tutor. Maybe I should be tutoring you."

Shae has a lot of thoughts about all these revelations that Garret is dishing out, but only one word tumbles out of her mouth. " _Why_?"

Garret smiles again, broad and boyish. "I like you, Shae Masen. You're bold and kind and funny - and extremely oblivious. I lied about needing a tutor to have an excuse to be around you, and then you had that self-imposed mission and I realized that the only way you would _see_ me is if I just said it directly to you. So, I like you. A lot. I'd like to date you, when you aren't grounded anymore, if that's okay with you."

Shae blinks. "If that's okay with _me_?" she repeats.

Garrett nods.

And Shae can only do one thing - dart in and steal a kiss from the sheepish smile of his mouth.

It turns out Shae will have stories to tell one day, too. And this is the story she'll tell _her_ kids about how she and their father fell in love.

* * *

 **A/N: That's it! That's the last futuretake for supernormal! Everyone wanted a glimpse of the next generation - so there you go!**

 **I've really enjoyed working on these little futuretakes, but I'm ready to say good-bye to these characters. They've been a part of me for almost a year and now I'm ready to meet new voices and find new stories to tell. I don't know what I'll be working on next or even if what I'm working on will find its way onto this site. I'd really like to work on getting published, though, so that's probably where I'll focus next.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


End file.
